Damien picked up the potted plant.
"So it wasn't rat poison at all," he said, "it was the real thing. That would explain the chemistry set over there."
"The gardener did it?" Micah asked, "but why?"
"Therein lies the problem," Damien remarked philosophically.
The gardener. Where had I seen the gardener?
"Nux vomica has seeds that contain strychnine," Damien was explaining, "in small amounts it's not harmful, but when you get a large enough dose it will shut down the nervous system."
"So all he had to do was crush the seeds and add it to the alcohol," Micah said.
"THE PHOTO ALBUM!" I shouted suddenly.
Both Micah and Sherlock jumped.
"That's where I saw the gardener! It was the picture of Mr. Willmont when he was young. He looked exactly like the gardener. Enough for them to be twins. Or father and son," I explained frantically.
"But he only had Dillon," Micah said in confusion, "didn't he?"
"Did he?" Sherlock said, his dark eyes narrowing.
Micah sighed, "I don't know, I just asked you that."
Damien looked like he was about to snap something nasty at his brother when I broke in.
"Stop being so melodramatic, both of you. So let's say hypothetically Glenn was Dillon's what? Half brother? Let's say hypothetically that Glenn knew his father was Mr. Willmont. You haven't seen your father for years and all you know is what your mother told you, so what do you do? You go work for the man. You finally tell him who you are. What if he doesn't respond the way you want? Or maybe you're just jealous of the brother. What do you do?"
"You slip some of your lovely little plant collection into your father's nightcap," Sherlock finished for me.
"Exactly," I replied, rather pleased with myself.
"Let's say in theory you hear your father and your brother fighting. It sounds like a great opportunity to get even with everyone," Damien said, working his plan out in his head.
"So you two think you've got it all figured out do you?" a new voice said.
I whirled toward the door only to see the gardener in question with a gun pointed at us.
"We'll see how far you get with that little theory," he growled.
"So it wasn't rat poison at all," he said, "it was the real thing. That would explain the chemistry set over there."
"The gardener did it?" Micah asked, "but why?"
"Therein lies the problem," Damien remarked philosophically.
The gardener. Where had I seen the gardener?
"Nux vomica has seeds that contain strychnine," Damien was explaining, "in small amounts it's not harmful, but when you get a large enough dose it will shut down the nervous system."
"So all he had to do was crush the seeds and add it to the alcohol," Micah said.
"THE PHOTO ALBUM!" I shouted suddenly.
Both Micah and Sherlock jumped.
"That's where I saw the gardener! It was the picture of Mr. Willmont when he was young. He looked exactly like the gardener. Enough for them to be twins. Or father and son," I explained frantically.
"But he only had Dillon," Micah said in confusion, "didn't he?"
"Did he?" Sherlock said, his dark eyes narrowing.
Micah sighed, "I don't know, I just asked you that."
Damien looked like he was about to snap something nasty at his brother when I broke in.
"Stop being so melodramatic, both of you. So let's say hypothetically Glenn was Dillon's what? Half brother? Let's say hypothetically that Glenn knew his father was Mr. Willmont. You haven't seen your father for years and all you know is what your mother told you, so what do you do? You go work for the man. You finally tell him who you are. What if he doesn't respond the way you want? Or maybe you're just jealous of the brother. What do you do?"
"You slip some of your lovely little plant collection into your father's nightcap," Sherlock finished for me.
"Exactly," I replied, rather pleased with myself.
"Let's say in theory you hear your father and your brother fighting. It sounds like a great opportunity to get even with everyone," Damien said, working his plan out in his head.
"So you two think you've got it all figured out do you?" a new voice said.
I whirled toward the door only to see the gardener in question with a gun pointed at us.
"We'll see how far you get with that little theory," he growled.